34 pages • 1 hour read
J. M. CoetzeeA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
The expansion of empire is the central theme of the novel. Imperialism is the complete subjugation of local, usually Indigenous, peoples through military and financial coercion. An empire, like the one in the novel, exists to enrich its ruling class at the expense of the people it subjugates. Colonialism is a form of settler imperialism where the members of the ruling nation settle on the land of the Indigenous population and rule over them. The settlement outpost in the novel signals the physical reach of the Empire. While the novel does not explicitly state why the settlement exists, or what the primary motivation was for the expansion in the first place (whether it was for resource exploitation or some other purpose), the cultural footprint of the Empire is nonetheless large and growing and serves as motivation in and of itself.
The novel explores the binary of empire versus Indigenous people. Part of the nature of the Empire is a strong xenophobia and prejudice against those not part of it. This bias against others is an enabling force, and when ugly and cruel behavior is unleashed on those suspected of being the enemy, there is no resistance from the Empire’s citizens. The brutality is unsavory to the townspeople at best; at worst, it is a satisfying of bloodlust. Joll’s arrival at the settlement initiates a series of events in which the worst people in the settlement slowly rise to the surface. Joll’s arrival induces fear amongst the townspeople, and it is directed outward at their supposed enemy, which they are told are the Indigenous nomadic communities. It is important to recognize that the Magistrate consistently points out that the town has been at peace and has never experienced a real threat from the local population; however, Joll’s arrival and the campaign against the Indigenous community causes fear, which turns into hysteria.
The irony is that the real enemy of the settlement is Joll and the Third Bureau. They bring chaos and brutality to the town. Almost all of the violence committed in the novel is performed by the Empire. The only act of violence allegedly perpetrated by the locals against the Empire happens toward the end, when the dead soldier arrives propped up on horseback. Even then, it can be inferred that Joll’s own men committed this act. The Indigenous community does not commit any acts of war against the Joll’s army. Joll’s assistant reveals to the Magistrate that the people simply lured the army further and further into the mountains and effectively used their bloodlust against them. It was not the Indigenous people who killed off the army; it was the elements. Had Joll’s company not been so aggressively seeking to annihilate the Indigenous people, the army would not have suffered the decimation that it did. This is one of the underlying lessons the book explores. There are limits to imperial expansion. Like a rubber band, if stretched too far, it will snap at some point.
The effectiveness of torture as a means of arriving at the truth is highly questionable in the novel; therefore, it must have a different purpose when it is employed. This is one of the novel’s central positions. While Joll claims that his methods of interrogation yield the desired results, the accuracy of these yields is highly problematic. What Joll’s interrogation technique truly represents is not some extension of justice and truth-seeking; instead, it is an exercise in sadism and power.
The Magistrate understands what Joll does not, or refuses to, see. He recognizes the inherent limitations in using physical violence to extract the truth. When he is first imprisoned, the Magistrate understands what they are doing by depriving him. He says, “I know very well the weight that insinuations and nuances can be made to bear or how a question can be asked in such a way as to dictate its answer” (83). The Magistrate is pointing out how the interrogators use leading questions to arrive at the desired answer. When it is not forthcoming, they use other methods, which include the threat of physical violence and then actual violence. Earlier in the novel, the Magistrate asks Joll: “What if your prisoner is telling the truth…yet finds he is not believed? Is that not a terrible position?” (5). He is implying here that the suspect is indeed not responsible for the crime he has been accused of and maintains his innocence. This has no effect on Joll. In his eyes, the accused is already guilty and there is only one answer that will suffice. This guilty-until-proven-innocent approach is the fundamental antithesis to post-Enlightenment legal philosophy. It is a perversion of the view that it is incumbent upon the authorities to prove the accused guilty by using factual evidence against them. In Joll’s case, speculation is the evidence, and a presumption of guilt is the proof. Torture as a means of arriving at this proof is cruel and an illustration of legalized brutality in the novel. This leads to the great irony of the book. The Empire, as a representative of so-called civilization, in practicing torture becomes the very thing they claim they are fighting against: the threat posed by savagery. The Indigenous people in the novel are not the barbarians; the representatives of the Empire are.
This theme takes form in two significant ways. The first manifestation of this theme is when the Magistrate is imprisoned. Explaining the motives of his captors, the Magistrate says, “They were interested only in demonstrating to me what it meant to live in a body, as a body, a body which can entertain notions of justice only as long as it is whole and well” (115). The deprivation experienced by the Magistrate reduces his enlightened self to simply an inhabitant of a body that has its own needs. Ideals such as justice and peace are lofty and reside purely in the mind, not in the animal instincts of the body. When the need for basic necessities such as food and water becomes so extreme, the notion of the self and what that self stands for becomes a secondary concern, or of no concern at all. The Magistrate further says of his captors, “They came to my cell to show me the meaning of humanity, and in the space of an hour they showed me a great deal” (115). Here, we see the fundamental tension that resides in the human being, a struggle between body and mind. The mind is subjugated to the body when the body is deprived of its fundamental needs.
Secondly, the desire to satiate the sexual appetite goes on in spite of extenuating circumstances. This is best represented in the Magistrate’s liaison with the cook, Mai, toward the end of the novel. As the threat of devastation hangs over the future of the settlement, the Magistrate still feels the urge to carry out his carnal appetite. In fact, he uses the threat of doom as a justification for the sexual relationship. He says to Mai, “Everything is coming to an end. We must live as we can” (150), and this is on the heels of him seeing an herbalist because he has uncomfortable feelings of arousal even though extinction appears to be looming. In this case, the body is decoupled from the mind, and it goes on in the way it always has. The Magistrate is a lusty individual, and when he strikes up the relationship with Mai, he is looking to satisfy these urges. When he sees the herbalist, he implicitly admits that he has an urge to subdue his body’s cravings and that it has its own needs. The Magistrate comes to see this almost as a burden, as though he is a slave to his body. And in the end, the urges of his body prevail over the limitations imposed on it by his mind.
By J. M. Coetzee